


Corporal

by DreamingKate



Category: Glee
Genre: Abuse, Ghost!Blaine, Homophobia, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingKate/pseuds/DreamingKate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine had been alone for over sixty years. That was all about to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corporal

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: The new Hudmel house is haunted by Ghost!Blaine, who becomes friends with Kurt but is scared of his parents - maybe his were abusive. But Kurt gets really sick one night and is so out of it that Blaine scares the crap out of Burt/carole to get them to wake up and help him. Would love Kurt coming home from the hospital and Blaine fussing despite Burt and Carole being there, and Kurt holding and thanking him and parents being awkward. (Maybe Blaine gets more solid whenever he’s close to Kurt)

He was stuck. 

Blaine had always thought that when he died he would wind up at giant pearly gates or in the fiery pit his father had told him he was going to, but when it happened…nothing happened. 

When he had come home from school that day he had known his father was drunk. Hell, his father was almost always drunk so he did what he always did and tried to sneak past him.

“Is that you boy?” His father slurred and Blaine froze. 

“Yes sir,” he mumbled, knowing that if he tried to run it would just be worse. 

“Were you out fucking some boy?” He heard a stumble as his father got to his feet and he turned. “Probably turning tricks on the corner right? You whore.”

“Are you done?” Blaine raised his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” a fist slammed into his stomach and Blaine stumbled back into the kitchen, groaning in pain. He grabbed onto the counter as he father charged at him. 

“You’re a pathetic, sad old man. You were a big hero in the war but now you only think you’re important when you’re beating up your son,” Blaine spat, finally done with the abuse. “You’re going to die hated. You’re going to-“

Then his father let out a roar of fury, grabbed a knife and slashed. 

There was a sharp sting and then a gush of hot, hot, hot liquid running down his chest. Blaine felt his knees give out and fell his hands and knees. All he could see was the growing pool of red on the floor and he couldn’t breathe. 

“Stop!” His father turned him onto his back and pressed his hands hard into the wound on his neck. “Fuck!”

Blaine gagged on the blood in his mouth and weakly twisted his fingers into his father’s shirt. He was growing dizzy and the world began to darken around him until his eyelids grew heavy and they closed. 

He took one breath, let it out, and opened his eyes. 

It was a strange feeling. It was like he had woken up from a long sleep and was well rested. Then he sat up and it was like trying to sit up after lying in molasses. 

Blaine gasped as he literally passed through his father. 

Terrified, he stumbled to his feet and spun around. He…or his body…was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. His father was frantically shaking his shoulders, face pale with panic. 

He was dead. 

Blaine watched as his father picked up his body and carried him outside. He watched as his father dug a deep hole in his mother’s rose garden. He watched as he father dumped his body in the hole like he was trash and as he buried him. He watched his father clean up the blood. He watched his mother sob as his father explained to the police that he had no idea where their son was. 

He watched everything. 

His mother had been devastated, never knowing that her son was buried right outside of their house. She kept his room just as it was and sat in there most days with her grief. 

Blaine spoke to her but she never heard. 

They left eventually, his father dying of liver disease and his mother went to live in a retirement home. Other families came and went, children ran through the halls of his home and he was alone. Years and years passed and Blaine was just there. 

Then, on the day of his seventy-ninth birthday, another family moved in. 

A loud crash startled him and Blaine turned away from the window, eyebrows furrowed. The sound of feet running up the stairs made him sigh. Loud families were the worst. 

“No!” Someone shouted next to the door of his bedroom. “We had already decided Finn! You get the room down the hall! You can’t just decide to get this room out of nowhere.” 

Whoever Finn was walked away grumbling and the door opened. A tall, stunningly beautiful boy walked into the room holding a cardboard box and looked around. His lips quirked into a smile as he saw the window. 

“Good light,” he mumbled, setting the box down. 

This was going to be much more interesting. 

—

Kurt was fascinating. 

At first Blaine felt like he was invading Kurt’s privacy by watching him but he decided that being dead had its perks. His style of decor was interesting, not quite what he was used to but nice. 

Kurt especially was amazing.

He liked to listen to Kurt sing; he had the most beautiful voice. His music was really different too. He didn’t have records or the radio that Blaine remembered. Instead he had a small rectangle that seemed to have endless songs. 

He didn’t know what a disco stick was but the song was catchy. 

Most days he sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, smiling as Kurt sang to himself and worked on his homework. One day he turned on a song and the scratchy sound of a record player starting. 

“The boat rides we would take, the moonlight on the oak. The way we danced and hummed our favorite song. The things we did last summer I’ll remember all winter long,” Kurt’s voice melded perfectly with Frank Sinatra’s and Blaine perked up at the song he recognized. 

“The midway and the fun, the kewpie doll we won,” Blaine joined in and Kurt startled, looking around. 

Blaine was instantly stunned into silence as Kurt looked right at him. He was so startled he lost his focus and fell right through the wall into the bathroom. 

Kurt had heard him. 

Someone had heard him. 

—

After that day, Blaine tried desperately to get Kurt to hear him. He shouted, screamed, sang and pleaded but Kurt never even glanced his way. It broke his heart because he knew that Kurt had heard him. 

He just needed to try harder. 

Then one night Kurt came home from school covered in some kind of colorful, sticky drink. He showered off as Blaine waited in the bedroom and walked back in, shoulders curled in on themselves. 

Kurt let out a sob and covered his face with his hands, sinking onto his bed. His entire body shook with his sobs and Blaine’s heart shattered. 

Hesitating for a moment, Blaine reached over and placed a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. To his amazement, his hand didn’t pass through Kurt but rested there. Kurt jerked a little, glancing up in surprise. 

“Hello?” Kurt whispered, voice a little hoarse from his earlier tears. 

Blaine bounced a little in place before squeezing his shoulders. He grinned as Kurt stared at his shoulder, eyes widening. “Can you hear me?”

“Okay, I’m going insane,” Kurt breathed. “Are you like…a ghost?”

Blaine almost laughed at the blush that spread across Kurt’s face and he squeezed his shoulder again. Kurt jumped and his head shot up to stare directly into Blaine’s eyes. He knew that Kurt wasn’t really looking at him, just where he thought he was, but it still made Blaine gasp. 

“Are we talking Casper or The Grudge?” Kurt asked slowly and Blaine paused, unsure what he was saying. “I mean…are you nice? God that sounds lame.”

Blaine laughed and squeezed his shoulder again. 

“I need more sleep or something,” Kurt stood up, eyes scanning the room. “Clearly I hit my head harder than I thought. What’s your name?”

After a moment of hesitation, Blaine pushed Kurt’s shoulder roughly in the direction of the desk and Kurt hopped up to grab and pen and paper. He sat down at his desk and glanced around the room again, looking unsure. 

“Does it start with an A?” Kurt waited but didn’t feel any pressure. “B?”

Blaine squeezed his shoulder. 

They continued through the alphabet until his name was written across the paper. Blaine squeezed his shoulder a few times in a row, a wide smile across his face. 

“Blaine?” Kurt read it and Blaine felt tears spring to his eyes, overwhelmed at hearing his name for the first time in over fifty years. “Well Blaine…I guess it’s nice to meet you.”

—

After that Kurt just talked constantly. Blaine clung onto every word, loving that finally someone knew he was here. Kurt would just talk about little things like school or a television show, but sometimes he would speak softly about the bullying or problems with his friends. 

Blaine would respond and nod even though he knew Kurt didn’t hear him. It felt almost like a conversation and Blaine found himself waiting all day for Kurt to get home just so he could feel like a person again.

Kurt leaned over and pressed a button on his strange little device. Frank Sinatra started playing again and Blaine smiled. It hadn’t taken long before Kurt had gone through all his music to find out which ones Blaine liked and he knew that Blaine loved Sinatra. 

“Anyway,” Kurt was working on his homework facing away from Blaine. “Then Rachel said-“

He spun around with a smile, clearly about to do an impression when he froze. Kurt stared at him with wide eyes and Blaine glanced behind himself, confused.

“Holy crap, I can see you,” he breathed and Blaine blinked a few times before placing a hand on his chest.

“Really?” He asked and Kurt startled. 

“I heard you!” Kurt grinned. “You’re…really good looking. I was expecting you to look like rotting and gross and…you’re good looking.”

“You too,” Blaine laughed, feeling the tips of his ears burning. “It’s so nice to finally be able to talk to someone.”

“How long has it been?” Kurt asked and Blaine grimaced. 

“Um…I died in 1951,” Blaine said softly and Kurt’s eyes widened. 

“That explains why you like Sinatra so much,” Kurt smiled then his smile fell. “So you’ve been alone for like…sixty years?”

“I guess,” Blaine gave him a tiny smile. 

“Well…I’m honored to be the first person to talk to you,” Kurt smiled.

—

Kurt’s father was scary. 

He never shouted at Kurt or threatened him but he reminded Blaine so much of his own father that he didn’t even like being in the same room as him. When he saw Burt he was reminded of the bruises and split lips, of the way his father’s eyes had flashed as he grabbed that knife. 

Every time he heard those heavy feet thudding up the stairs he would hurry through the walls, even if Kurt were speaking to him. He knew that Burt most likely couldn’t see him but he wasn’t about to take any chances.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Kurt asked softly as they both sat on Kurt’s bed, looking through some magazines. 

“Sure,” Blaine shrugged, still a little perplexed by this generation’s fashion. 

“How did you die?” Blaine glanced up in surprise and Kurt ducked his head. “Only if you want to tell me.”

“My father fought in the war and when he came back he was different. He started drinking a lot and my mother started going out more. He found out that I…prefer men and that’s when it started. I think he was just taking out his frustrations on me,” Blaine felt tears prick at his eyes and Kurt reached over to gently take his hand. “He had been hitting me for so long and I just snapped. I shouted at him and he punched me. I stumbled into the kitchen and he was so angry. He grabbed a knife and…I don’t think he meant to. He slashed at me and it slit my throat.”

“Oh my God,” Kurt gasped, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry Blaine.”

“No one knew. He buried me in the backyard and told the police that he didn’t know what had happened to me,” Blaine reached up to wipe his eyes. “He got away with it and I’m still here.”

“So you’re buried outside?” Kurt glanced out his window to the rose garden below. 

“I doubt there’s much left of me now,” Blaine mumbled. “Sorry, this is far too grim.”

“No, I asked,” Kurt shook his head. “What are you still doing? Aren’t you supposed to move on or see a bright light or something?”

“I don’t know. Death was pretty…normal. It just felt like waking up,” he shrugged. “Like I woke up and everything kept moving but me.”

Kurt nodded, looking at Blaine sadly for a long moment. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. You deserve a lot more than being forgotten.”

Blaine smiled at him softly. There was a long silence between then before Blaine took a deep breath and leaned forward to gently press their lips together. Kurt stiffened slightly and returned the kiss.  An intense warmth flowed through Blaine and he reached up to brush his fingers through Kurt’s hair.

“I’m making out with the ghost who haunts my house,” Kurt breathed against his lips and Blaine laughed. 

“Just don’t think about it too hard,” he grinned.

“What would it look like if someone walked in?” Both of them laughed before kissing again.

—

Sleeping in Kurt’s bed had become a normal thing. After sixty years of having no human contact, he loved curling up next to Kurt’s warm body. He loved the way Kurt would wrap his arms around him and hold him like he was something precious.

Maybe he was a little touch starved but Kurt was more than willing to help.

But, tonight he felt off. Blaine felt Kurt shivering next to him but his forehead blazed with heat. Earlier he had complained of headaches and had gone to bed early but now he looked terrible. His pale skin shone with sweat and his teeth chattered slightly. 

“Kurt?” Blaine whispered, brushing back his sweaty hair. 

“I think you’re an angel Blaine, not a ghost,” Kurt’s words were slurred and his eyes were bright with fever. 

“That’s nice. Are you alright?”

Kurt blinked slowly at him and reached up to shakily touch his cheek. “You’re a nice ghost. Casper.”

“Kurt!” Blaine snapped, trying to get him to focus. 

Instead of saying anything, Kurt’s eyes rolled back and his body began to jerk on the bed. Blaine watched in horror as he seized and jumped up. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to wait until someone noticed? What if Kurt got worse?

He couldn’t wait. 

Blaine hurried down the stairs where Burt and Carole were watching television and stomped on the stairs. They didn’t even flinch and Blaine felt his chest clench. 

If he didn’t get their attention Kurt could die.

As soon as he had the thought, Carole glanced up and screamed. Blaine jumped and realized that they were both staring at him in shock. 

“Who the hell are you?” Burt snapped, jumping up off the couch.

“Kurt’s sick. He’s having a seizure and he needs help,” he gasped out, stumbling to the side of the staircase as they both raced up the stairs. 

Not three minutes later, Burt hurried down the stairs with Kurt in his arms. Carole grabbed her car keys and glanced back at Blaine with wide eyes. 

“I don’t know who you are but get out of my home,” Burt snapped, clearly terrified about his son. 

“I can’t,” Blaine whispered as the door slammed shut and left him alone.

—

Kurt was in the hospital for two weeks with meningitis. Three days after he was admitted to the hospital, Carole came home to get changes of clothes. Before she walked back out the door, she paused and glanced around the room. 

“Kurt told us about you Blaine,” she said softly. “I’m sorry for what happened. Thank you so much for saving him, you might have saved his life. This place is your home too.”

As she walked out Blaine smiled.

Kurt was bringing him back to life, he was sure of it. Every moment he was near him he felt warm and alive for the first time in years. He didn’t know where this would lead to but he just knew that Kurt was saving him. 

When Kurt came home from the hospital Blaine was waiting for him at the door. Kurt smiled at him tiredly and pulled him into his arms. The moment he wrapped his arms around him, Blaine felt like he had been struck by lightning. 

He jerked slightly and gasped in a breath, stunned when the air felt different going into his lungs. He trembled in Kurt’s arms and the faint transparent look he always had to him vanished. 

“What happened?” Kurt asked, staring at him.

“I think…” Blaine pressed a hand to his chest and felt a strong heartbeat. “I think I’m alive.”

Kurt grinned and pulled him in for a kiss, smiling. 

This was a second chance.

—

It took a month to find her. 

The Hummel-Hudsons had been more than welcoming to their bizarre houseguest. Burt set him up a room and signed him up for some GRE courses. Finn was thrilled to introduce him to every little aspect of the 2000’s and Carole adored him.

But he missed his mother. 

Maria Anderson was still alive at ninety-eight years old in a retirement home not twenty minutes away. As much as Blaine wanted to see her he was still terrified. His mother was apparently very ill and had spent most of her life without her son. 

Kurt followed him down the halls and smiled to the nurses when they lied and told them that Blaine was her grandson. They led him to her room and Kurt rubbed a hand up and down his back. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Kurt asked softly. 

“No. This is something I need to do by myself,” Blaine shook his head, glancing back at Burt, Carole and Finn standing in the waiting room. “Thank you for this.”

“Of course,” Kurt kissed him gently. 

Blaine took a deep breath and pushed open the door. His mother was still just as beautiful as he remembered but she looked ancient. Her black curls had turned white and her face was heavily lined. 

“Who’s there?” His mother gasped, her chest heaving with a breath. 

“It’s me mama,” Blaine walked closer. 

“Blaine? My son died years ago,” she said softly. 

“You’re right mama,” Blaine took a seat by her and took her hand. “I did but I’m back.”

She stared at him for a long moment before smiling softly. “My boy, my sweet, sweet boy.”

“I’m here,” he smiled and squeezed her hand. 

“Are you here to take me with you? Am I going to die?” 

“I don’t know mama. I know that I got a second chance here. I found someone I love and I have the chance to live,” tears pricked at his eyes as her smile widened. 

“You deserved to live. I only wanted you to be happy,” she pulled his hand to her and kissed his hand. “Now I can die knowing that my son is living like he should.”

“I’ll make you proud mama.”

“I was always so proud of you and I always will be,” she smiled gently. “My darling boy, go live a good life.”

Blaine nodded, thinking of Kurt outside in the waiting room. 

He was going to live good life. 


End file.
